Lunch with Nurse Crane
by writergal85
Summary: Takes place Series 4, before Shelagh and Phyllis were friends (aka before we all fell in love with Phyllis). Patrick invites Nurse Crane over for lunch to thank her for her help with a case. Things do not go as planned. Not canon and nothing belongs to me. Originally posted on my blog, moved here.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Not at all canon_**

"Timothy, please try to keep your homework confined to one area of the sitting room," Shelagh said, stepping around the stacks of books and papers littering the carpet. "I don't want a mess when your father comes home."

Timothy made a small effort to straighten some of the piles. "Sorry, Mum. I can't find the paper Mr. Latimer gave us with the guidelines for our science project." He began rummaging through his school bag again.

"Would it be this one?" Shelagh whipped out a folded typewritten sheet from her apron. "It was in the pocket of other trousers. You're lucky I checked before laundry day."

"Thanks, Mum," he muttered, his smile guilty.

She sighed. "Clear this up please, and wash your hands for dinner."

Shelagh went back to the kitchen to check on the casserole, glancing at the clock as she did. Patrick had said he might be late. In the corner, Angela sat in her high chair, sucking on her fist. She'd want a bottle soon. Perhaps she should give her one before Patrick came home, and let him eat his dinner in peace. But feeding Angela always did seem to brighten his mood, and he had left the flat in quite a mood today.

"What's the matter with that one?" she asked after he'd switched ties for the third time that morning.

"I've got my meeting with the Chief Medical Officer, Mr. Lansing, about the dysentery cases today," he growled, his voice echoing from the depths of the wardrobe.

"With Sister Julienne?"

"No, she wasn't available." He pulled a maroon and gray tie out of the wardrobe and she caught a glimpse of his sullen frown in her vanity mirror. "I'm being sent into battle with Nurse Crane."

Ah. There was the rub. Patrick had plenty of experience dealing with stubborn government officials, leaders more keen on keeping their jobs than helping those in need. When he had a supportive ally, he could be absolutely brilliant, and he'd often brought along Sister Julienne, Nurse Miller or even herself once or twice to help argue his case.

But Nurse Crane seemed less keen on mere support, and more than ready to stage a hostile takeover. As soon as Patrick had mentioned the threat of an epidemic, she'd made it her personal mission to eradicate the disease - even if that meant stepping on other people's toes. She'd nearly taken over Shelagh's lecture at clinic on the importance of hand washing.

Shelagh stuck one last pin in her hair, rose and went to the wardrobe. "Nurse Crane seems very knowledgeable about preventing disease," she said, selecting a dark green tie. "I'm sure she'll be a great help." She slid the maroon tie from her husband's neck and slipped the green one in its place.

"It's not her knowledge or nursing abilities I'm worried about," Patrick griped. "We can't go in there arguing, with her trying to take charge and contradicting everything I say."

"So now nurses are not allowed to disagree with the great Dr. Turner?" she teased.

Patrick gave her a half-hearted smile. "You know what I mean, sweetheart. We have to work together, as a team, if we even have a hope of convincing Mr. Lansing to help."

"I'm sure Mr. Lansing will want to prevent an epidemic. Present him the facts and appeal to his better nature, as always," Shelagh said, finishing the knot and smoothing down the tie. "And as for Nurse Crane, she only wants to help. At least she's -" what was a kind word for it? " - enthusiastic."

Patrick lifted one eyebrow, not convinced. "I'd settle for a little less enthusiasm and little more cooperation."

The meeting had been scheduled for 10 o'clock, and Shelagh hadn't heard from Patrick since then. She locked up his office and left the surgery at lunch to work on her investigation into the source of the dysentery outbreak at home while Angela napped. She started dinner after Timothy arrived from school, and still, the phone didn't ring once.

Perhaps the meeting had gone well. No news was generally good news, right? After all, both she and Patrick were professionals, and Nurse Crane seemed the type to appreciate professionalism and order. Yes, she had frowned on Shelagh's decision to bring Angela to the surgery with her, but she held her organizational skills in high regard. She was, by all accounts, an excellent nurse. Shelagh had heard from Patrick how Nurse Crane and Sister Evangelina had stepped in to help Barbara during Mrs. Bissette's delivery. It took someone with an experienced hand - a kind hand - and a steel backbone to help a mother through a stillbirth. Afterward, there was prayer. Always prayer.

No, the problem was not Nurse Crane, Shelagh suspected - well, not entirely Nurse Crane.

Patrick, she had learned from a year of marriage and nearly a decade of working together, always appreciated suggestions and advice, especially in situations where the patient was more comfortable with one of the nurses.

But he very rarely liked being _told_ what to do. And Nurse Crane seemed to do an awful of telling.

In that regard, Nurse Crane and her husband were very much alike, she mused with a smile - though she certainly wouldn't tell him that.

Shelagh heard the click of keys in the lock and the front door swung open with a bang. Patrick was home.

"Sorry!" he called out. "Wind took it away from me."

She looked up from preparing Angela's bottle. He sounded cheerful. Was he whistling?

Her husband strolled into the kitchen and kissed her in greeting. "Hello, my love. Dinner smells wonderful."

He was smiling. Not the weary smile of a man just glad to be home, but the wide and - dare she say it? - _victorious_ smile of a man who has just had a very good day at the office. She thought suddenly of their triumph, long ago now, in bringing the TB screening van to Poplar.

"Hello," she said, then added cautiously, "How was the meeting with Mr. Lansing?"

"Well," he said, bending slightly to tickle Angela in her high chair. "It started out a bit rocky - we argued, and I didn't think Mr. Lansing was going to give in at all. But in the end, he came round." His grin widened. "They're going to clear and fog Bullthorpe this week and I think, with some more convincing, we might even be able to get them to close it down for good."

Shelagh beamed proudly. "Oh, Patrick, that's wonderful. Well done." She wouldn't mention Nurse Crane. Best not spoil his good mood. "So what convinced Mr. Lansing in the end?"

Patrick's grin turned sheepish. "Nurse Crane, actually. She gave him quite a tongue lashing."

Shelagh chuckled. "Poor Mr. Lansing."

"Indeed. Fear can be a strong motivator." He lifted Angela out of her chair and balanced her on his hip, bouncing her slightly. Shelagh handed him the bottle and turned back to the stove. Thank goodness everything had worked out. They'd have a nice, quiet evening at home now, without Patrick pacing and worrying over his work.

"You know, she's not such a bad egg really," Patrick said.

"Who's not a bad egg?" Timothy said, coming into the kitchen. "Are we eating soon? I'm hungry."

"Nurse Crane and yes, we are," Shelagh said. "Please finish setting the table."

Timothy took the plates and cutlery off the counter and began laying them on the small table on the other side of the kitchen hatch. "She acts mean," he said. "But she keeps sweets in her pockets. I've seen her give them to the littler children at clinic."

Shelagh raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Timothy nodded. "Barley sugar twists." He returned to the kitchen for the glasses. "Why does Nurse Crane drive a car, instead of riding a bicycle like all the other nurses?"

Patrick shrugged. "I expect she learned to drive in the war. Lots of women did."

"Did you, Mum?"

Shelagh shook her head, amused. "Timothy, you know I was only about 14." She took the baby from Patrick's arms. "If you'll move Angela's chair, we can sit down to dinner."

Patrick did, and Shelagh brought out the casserole and vegetables. After saying grace, they all tucked in.

"So how was your day? Any luck with your research, Watson?" Patrick winked at his wife.

Shelagh's face pinked. "Well, I've narrowed down the source of dysentery to a few places, so I think I'm getting closer. I just have a few more calls to make."

"Ugh, can we please not talk about dysentery while we're eating?" Timothy said, grimacing.

"Sorry, Timothy." Shelagh smiled, then sighed. "The trouble is, Patrick, even when we do pinpoint the origin of the - _the mystery_ \- we're still going to have to do more with education in the community in order to stop its spread. We can only do so much at clinic."

"True," Patrick said, chewing thoughtfully. "I'll speak to Nurse Crane, see if she has any ideas. We could meet at the surgery. Or we could have her here, one afternoon, for lunch or something. On Saturday?"

Angela squealed and dropped her bottle on the floor, so Shelagh was able to hide the shock on her face as she bent to retrieve it. "Here, Patrick?"

"If you don't mind. We've got to tackle this thing head-on and we don't have much time. Besides, it would give the two of you the chance to work out a plan."

A plan? With Nurse Crane? That would be like trying to plan with a bulldozer. "I suppose that's true - "

"Do I have to be there?" Timothy asked. "Can't I go play cricket or something?"

"You can play cricket after lunch," Patrick said. "Shelagh?"

Shelagh toyed with the vegetables on her plate. It was one thing to be ordered about by Nurse Crane at clinic and in the surgery. But inviting her into their home? She'd probably inform Shelagh that she wasn't sterilizing bottles according to the latest method and that Angela's napping habits were irregular because she spent too much time at the surgery. She might even spout off more nonsense from that Dr. Spock.

But what could she say? She'd teased Patrick only this morning about his reluctance to work with the bossy nurse; she couldn't very well say she didn't want to work with her now. And Patrick looked so eager, energized by his victory at the meeting.

Well, it was only one lunch, she thought, pursing her lips. "Of course. Invite her Saturday, if she's free."


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Many thanks to my-little-yellow-bird_** ** _for beta-reading._**

Shelagh stared at the burnt vegetables and ruined pudding and blinked back tears. She would not cry over potatoes and rhubarb custard. That was silly.

It was more than just the dinner, though. The entire day had gone pear-shaped, and Nurse Crane hadn't even arrived yet.

Shelagh had woken before the alarm, as usual. She'd always been an early riser - years of Lauds had made her so - and Angela's arrival last fall meant she rarely got a lie-in. And there was much to do today to prepare for lunch with Nurse Crane. She shuddered slightly at the thought.

This would be the third Saturday she and Patrick had attempted it. They'd had to cancel the first two invitations to lunch - one because Angela had a fever, and the second because of an unexpected twins' birth that kept both Nurse Crane and Patrick out until late in the evening.

Since they'd first extended the invite, Shelagh had worked hard to prove herself to Nurse Crane at clinic and the surgery, but older nurse remained unimpressed. Ten years. She'd been a midwife for _ten years_. She knew how to run the clinic, and more besides. She shouldn't even have to prove herself.

After Nurse Crane's remark at the last clinic about her ability to organize patients - "just keep pushing them through" - Shelagh nearly decided to cancel the lunch outright. Perhaps Patrick wouldn't mind too much. With the dysentery outbreak effectively managed, there was no reason to meet with her outside the clinic anyway.

But then, after the last mother had been seen to, Nurse Crane came up to the intake table with a big grin stretched across her face.

"Well done, Mrs. Turner," she said. "I think that's the smoothest clinic has ever run. We've even finished five minutes early."

"Yes," Shelagh said, tentatively returning her smile. "Nurse Crane. About lunch on Saturday -"

"Yes, I am sorry we had to cancel last week, but babies come when they will. You're probably familiar with that, being a doctor's wife."

And a midwife once myself, she thought. "Yes. I am sorry - "

"I must say I'm quite looking forward to it now. It's been ages since I've had a Saturday off." She frowned. "You know I am vegetarian?"

"I had heard -"

"Good. An excellent diet. You might try it yourself. Dr. Turner's been looking a bit peaked lately, don't you think?"

"I'm sure -"

"I could furnish you with a few recipes." She glanced toward the kitchen and tutted. "What is Nurse Gilbert doing with those spirit lamps? Excuse me." She bustled off to chastise the young nurse.

And now, Saturday had arrived and Nurse Crane would be here in - Shelagh glanced at the clock - less than six hours. Well, some things just had to be done, and there was no point in trying to put them off.

She began to slide out from under the duvet, but an arm grasped her around the waist and pulled her back.

"Stay," Patrick muttered, his face half-buried in his pillow.

"Sorry," she whispered, turning back to face him. "I thought you were still asleep."

"I was." Patrick pulled her closer. "Stay."

The bed was warm and so was he, so she gave in, just for a moment, and wrapped her arms around his middle.

"Angela will be awake soon."

His lips brushed her forehead, her eyelids, and then drifted down to her cheek. "I don't hear anything yet."

"And we've got Nurse Crane coming for lunch today, remember?"

He groaned and tightened his grip on her waist. "Cancel."

"I can't. At clinic she said how much she was looking forward to it." She kissed him softly in apology. "It's just one lunch. And I told Sister Julienne that we won't be coming to Nonnatus after church tomorrow, so we've got all of Sunday."

Patrick chuckled, his laugh deep and husky with sleep. "Roll on, Sunday."

She giggled against his lips and then sighed in contentment as the kiss deepened and he pressed her back into the bed. Worries about Nurse Crane and luncheon faded into white noise. Noon was a long time from now anyway. A very blissful, long time.

Until the phone rang and Shelagh heard Angela's squawking hungry cry. She sighed and reluctantly untangled herself from her husband's arms. "I'll get Angela, you get the phone."

Her daughter was already sitting up in her cot, teary and whimpering. "Hello, angel. Did the phone wake you?" Shelagh picked her up, placing small kisses on her wet cheeks, and settled her on one hip. "Let's get breakfast for you and Daddy."

Shelagh went to the kitchen and set to work making a bottle for Angela and tea for herself and Patrick. In the hall, she could hear her husband still on the phone, talking in terse, quick sentences. A nurse with a troublesome patient, most likely. A doctor's work was never done.

She heard the clatter of the phone in its cradle and then Patrick padded into the kitchen, his face weary.

Shelagh handed him a cup of tea. "Who was it?"

"Sergeant Noakes. There was an altercation at the docks."

"Oh dear -"

Patrick shook his head. "It doesn't sound like anything too serious. A few busted noses, bloody knuckles, possibly a dislocated shoulder. He asked me to take a look at one of the men they're holding. He's just beginning to sober up." He scrubbed a hand over his face and yawned. "So much for a quiet Saturday." He set his tea on the counter and went to the bath to wash.

Patrick left a short time later, toast in hand, with promises to return in time for lunch. Shelagh gave Angela her bottle, then ate her own breakfast, washed and dressed and went to wake Timothy.

"Timothy?" She knocked gently on the door and then opened it. "Are you awake yet?"

Her stepson lay sprawled like a starfish in his bed, covers tangled around his gangly legs. A copy of _The Eagle_ rested under one arm - no doubt he'd been up late reading the night before - and he snored slightly. Shelagh rolled her eyes. Like father, like son.

"Timothy," she said again, this time sterner and louder. "Time to get up."

He moaned. "Mum, it's Saturday."

"Yes, and there is a lot to do." She picked her way over the piles of clothes, puzzles and books on the floor and opened the curtains. They would need cleaning too. What would Nurse Crane say if she saw all that dust?

She knelt and shook Timothy gently on the shoulder. "C'mon, stir your stumps."

Timothy merely turned over and buried his face in his pillow.

Shelagh set her hands on her hips. "You have five minutes and then I'm coming back."

She went back to the living room and began moving things off shelves to dust and hoover. Then, of course, there was Timothy's room and the kitchen. And then lunch - she still had little idea of what to make that would appease all her diners. She had found a few vegetarian recipes at the library, but she doubted Patrick and Timothy would eat something called "mock vegetable steaks," anymore than Nurse Crane would eat a bacon butty.

"You're not picky, though, are you, Angela? Thank goodness for that." Angela grinned at her from her playpen and continued gumming the arm of her teddy bear.

Timothy trudged out of his room and into the kitchen, his eyes sleepy and his hair sticking up on one side. "Morning. Is there any bacon?"

"Good morning," she said brightly. "And no, I'm afraid. Only toast and cornflakes this morning."

Tim made a face but poured himself a bowl. "Can I go to Colin's later?"

"After lunch perhaps. I'm going to need your help with the cleaning before Nurse Crane arrives." Shelagh ignored his groan of protest and continued picking up the animal figurines scattered on the side table. Tim seemed to leave them everywhere, no matter how many times she reminded him he had a baby sister who liked to put small objects in her mouth. "Everything needs a good dusting and clearing up. Your room especially."

"Why? Nurse Crane isn't coming in my room."

"Timothy," she said in a stern voice that brooked no refusal. "Nurse Crane is respected colleagues of your father's -" she took a deep breath "- and mine."

"But Mum, you don't even _like_ her. I can tell."

Shelagh caught his frown and sighed. She never could lie to him, especially not when he acted so protective of her and her feelings. She placed the small handful of toys on the edge of the kitchen hatch, to be collected later, and gave him a smile. "Nurse Crane and I don't always see eye to eye, that's true. But she is a guest in this house, and there is no reason not to show her our best. And I really do need your help with that."

Tim nodded. "All right," he muttered.

"Good. Now finish your cereal and then help me move the table."

* * *

Shelagh spent most of the morning cleaning the sitting room and tending to Angela, while Timothy was sent to set his room in order. She was skeptical when he came out after only a half-hour and announced he was finished, but after running a careful eye over the room, she couldn't spot anything out of place.

"Can I go out now?" Tim asked.

"Yes, but only for an hour. And take your sister with you," Shelagh said, handing him the baby. "She's been fed and changed, so you should be fine. And don't get your trousers dirty."

Tim headed out the door so quickly she wasn't sure he'd heard the end of her sentence. Oh well. It would give her time to start lunch without anyone underfoot.

After much deliberation and searching through various pamphlets on vegetarian cooking, she'd decided rissoles would be the easiest - she could leave out the sausage for Nurse Crane - as well as a salad and potatoes, with rhubarb and custard for pudding. Cooking wasn't always one of her favorite tasks, but she did enjoy seeing Patrick and Timothy get enjoyment out of her meals. They were easy to please. Nurse Crane on the other hand...

She switched on the wireless to drown out her worries and set to work.

* * *

The salad was made, the rissoles and potatoes were nearly done and the rhubarb syrup was bubbling on the hob when the phone rang. Shelagh turned down the wireless and went to answer it, hoping it wasn't Patrick saying he'd be late.

"Hello, Turner residence. Mrs. Turner speaking."

"Ah, Mrs. Turner. Just the person I needed to speak with." It was Reverend Hereward, a friend but not a frequent caller to the Turner residence. The last time they'd really spoken was during his and Trixie's engagement party a few weeks ago.

"Really? What can I do for you?"

"Well, we've just found a new director for the church choir and he's looking for recruits." A pause. "You wouldn't be interested would you?"

Shelagh felt a pang of guilt and regret. She missed singing, but there simply wasn't the time anymore. "I wish I could, but things are rather busy at the moment with the surgery and the children -"

"Yes, of course."

"But I might still have the list of Poplar Choral Society members. I'm sure many of them would be glad to join. If you'll hold on just a moment, I'll go find it."

She set down the phone and went to search through the music on the piano. It wasn't there. Where had she put it? Bedside table? No. She hadn't looked at the list in months, but she had kept it in a notebook...somewhere. Goodness, she was getting worse than Patrick. She riffled through the stack of papers balanced on the kitchen hatch, annoyed at herself. She hadn't been nearly this disorganized before Angela arrived and her work at the surgery increased. She'd just have to work to do better.

"Ah, there it is," she muttered, spotting the choral list from the bottom of the stack. She tugged at the paper and the small pile of plastic animals she'd set on the hatch earlier went flying.

"Bother." But the Reverend was waiting on the phone. She'd pick them up in a moment.

Shelagh hurried back to the phone. "Hello, Reverend? I have the list."

She quickly rattled off a few names and telephone numbers. "I'm afraid I don't know how many of these are current, but I hope it helps."

"It does. Thank you, Mrs. Turner."

She bade him goodbye and hung up, sighing. She did miss the choir. Well, at least she'd been able to help in some way, and perhaps, once Angela got a bit older, she could -

Wait, what was - Shelagh sniffed the air again - no. She rushed to the kitchen, quickly pulled on oven gloves and yanked open the door.

"N-no," she cried, coughing slightly on the smoke. She pulled the roasting dish out of the oven and set it on the counter. The potatoes were blackened ruins.

She set her hands on her hips and considered her options. It was too late to redo them, but there was bread and butter. With the rissoles, the salad and the custard, it would be enough. She stirred the rhubarb syrup so it wouldn't stick, then frowned and brought the pan closer. It smelled funny, too, almost like when Patrick spilled petrol filling up the car - oh no.

Clinging to the spoon and covered in rhubarb was a half-melted plastic animal - a monkey by the looks of it. It must have fallen in when she'd scattered the toys earlier.

So no pudding either, unless she could come up with another dish in - she looked at the clock - twenty minutes. And where on earth was Patrick?

She heard the front door open and the sound of Tim's quick and heavy steps in the hall. "Mum! Angela's messed herself!"

Lord, give me strength. Shelagh blinked back tears, set the ruined pot in the sink and went outside.

Angela wailed in her pram, her face red and her dress completely soiled through. Tim stood nearby, his lip curled in disgust. He'd play with his sister and help feed her, but he drew the line at leaky nappies.

"Oh, Angela," Shelagh tutted. "Tim, go inside and start the bath for your sister, please. I'll join you in a moment."

She carefully lifted her daughter and soiled blankets out of the pram. Luckily, she was still wearing her apron and that could all go straight in the wash. She glanced down the street - still no sign of Patrick or Nurse Crane - and then at Angela's tear-streaked face. There was only so much discomfort and frustration one could take. "My thoughts exactly, angel. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

Once Shelagh got Angela out of her soiled dress and into the tub, her daughter's mood improved considerably. "No splashing Mummy today," she admonished gently as Angela paddled in the water. "We just have to get you clean before our guest arrives." She turned briefly to her stepson. "Tim, could you please set the table and make sure the food is covered - and put the kettle on for tea. Then ring the surgery. I don't know where your father has got to."

As if on cue, she heard the front door open and close again. "That'll be Dad now," Tim said before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Home, with just enough time to change." Patrick entered the bath, waistcoat crumpled and tie askew. "Shelagh? What's this?"

The good-natured confusion in his voice set her teeth on edge. Wasn't it obvious what had happened? "Angela had an accident in her pram."

"Oh, is that all?"

She wrung out the flannel with some force. "No, Patrick, that is not all. Lunch is ruined, the kitchen is in a terrible state, Angela still needs to be dressed and then you arrive, nearly late, and expect everything to be settled."

He frowned. "Shelagh, it's only Nurse Crane. I'm sure she doesn't expect tea the Ritz." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Call her and tell her you'll have to cancel. I'll finish up here with Angela."

Shelagh pursed her lips. Of course, she would have to be the one to cancel on Nurse Crane, again. And the one who would have to endure being bossed around at clinic and patronized at the surgery, despite her years of training. And the one that would still have to tidy up the kitchen and the sitting room and now there was the extra laundry -

"I don't see why you can't call her," she said sharply. "You're the one who wanted to invite her to lunch to begin with." She lifted Angela out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel and carried her to their bedroom.

Patrick followed her. "And you kept inviting her back each time we had to cancel. Shelagh, if you didn't want to invite her to lunch, why didn't you just tell me?"

The slight laughter that accompanied this question annoyed her, but she focused on dressing Angela to keep her anger at bay. "When? You were so thrilled about how the meeting with Mr. Lansing went and all that talk about working out a plan with Nurse Crane. Sometimes you get an idea in your head and you don't stop to ask-"

"That is not fair. I did ask."

"Barely, Patrick. More likely, you assumed it wouldn't be any trouble."

Patrick's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to retort, but there was a knock on their door and Tim stuck his head in. "Um, Nurse Crane is here."


	3. Chapter 3

Tim knew things weren't right the moment he walked in the door.

For one thing, the kitchen was a mess. A pile of pots and pans towered high in the sink, something pink and sticky covered the stove, and a funny smell hung in the air. The only visible food was the plate of rissoles and a dish of blackened potatoes - at least, he thought they were potatoes.

Mum was never this untidy. She always kept things neat as she cooked; she said it made it easier than tackling a huge mess at the end. Timothy couldn't remember her ever burning food, not even when she'd first left the Order and was still learning how to be a mum.

But she had been nervous all morning. He could tell by the way she smiled, too forced and bright. Whenever Tim was nervous, he always went too fast and messed things up - like during his first violin recital, when he played every piece allegro (You must not rush the Ave Maria child! Sister Monica Joan had said afterward. It is not a race!).

So while Mum was in the bath with Angela, Tim wiped the crumbs and splatters of sticky pink goo off the stove and counter, put all the dirty dishes in the sink to soak, and set a cloth over the rissoles to keep them warm. The potatoes looked beyond help, but perhaps they wouldn't be too bad if he scraped off the burned bits. It was only lunch for Nurse Crane, after all, not the Queen of England.

He heard the door open and shut, and Dad appeared in the hall, out of breath with his hair sticking up at an odd angle. "Made it - with - a minute - to spare," he wheezed. "Where's your mother?"

"Bath, with Angela. Have we got any bread?"

"Check the cupboards. I've got to wash up before Nurse Crane arrives." Dad disappeared down the hall before Tim had a chance to warn him that this was not Angela's usually pleasant bath time.

Tim found a loaf in the breadbox and the butter in the fridge, as well as a salad Mum had already made and some custard. And there was a packet of ginger biscuits in the cupboard - he knew because Mum had told him that morning not to eat them and spoil his appetite. Tim set all this on the counter. It wasn't a feast, but it would have to be enough. And if Nurse Crane didn't like it, she could muck it, as far as he was concerned.

The doorbell rang; the formidable nurse must be here. Tim wiped his hands on a cloth and went to answer it.

Nurse Crane stood on the doorstep, wearing a stern expression and a green dress, and carrying a cake tin. Well, at least they'd have something to eat, Tim thought.

"Good afternoon Master Turner," she trilled.

"Good afternoon Nurse Crane," he replied politely.

An awkward pause.

"May I come in?"

"Oh - right. Of course." He stepped aside to let her in the hall. He should ask to take her coat - that would be polite. But she wasn't wearing one. "Can I - can I take that for you?" he asked, pointing to the cake tin.

"Thank you. I made it myself, from a Spanish recipe," the nurse said, prideful spots of pink appearing in her cheeks.

Spanish? Good grief. Maybe they wouldn't have anything good to eat after all. But Tim thanked her anyway and set it on the table.

Nurse Crane cast a judgmental eye over the empty sitting room and kitchen. "Where are your parents?"

"With Angela. I'll go let them know you're here," he said, glad to escape a further conversation with the stern nurse.

He knocked on the door before opening it - he'd only made the mistake of forgetting to knock once - and stuck his head in the door. But far from the embarrassing mushy display he'd encountered the last time, now Mum and Dad stood feet apart, glaring at each other. Angela lay between them on the bed dressed in only her nappy and one sock. Uh-oh. He cleared his throat. "Um, Nurse Crane is here."

Mum turned, her blue eyes stormy and cross behind her glasses. "Of course. Patrick, can you -?"

"I'm still a mess, love," he said, throwing his hands up. "Do you really want me to -?"

"No, I'll do it," she huffed. "Timothy, would you mind dressing your sister? I'll go and greet our guest."

She left the bedroom, leaving the Turner men alone with the baby.

"Thanks, Tim," his father said, stripping off his rumpled shirt and tie and heading back to the bath.

Getting his sister dressed wasn't the easiest task in the world, but at least he didn't have to change her nappy. Tim slipped a pink dress over her head and guided her wriggling arms through the sleeves with minimal effort, then picked her up.

"Now we just have to find your other sock. Where did you lose it this time?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows and making her squeal with laughter. "You're worse than Dad."

"What's that?" His dad popped his head out of the bathroom, wiping the remains of his shaving cream off his face.

"Nothing," Tim said. Dad could be so oblivious sometimes. "Mum's really nervous about Nurse Crane visiting, you know. She burned dinner and everything."

"Well, Nurse Crane can be intimidating," his dad muttered as he searched for a tie. "But there's no need to worry about impressing her. Here, or at the clinic. Your mother can hold her own, and she's a brilliant nurse. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, but she hasn't really been a nurse since she was still Sister Bernadette, has she?" Tim said. "Nurse Crane wasn't around then." He spotted Angela's missing sock stuck to his dad's pant leg. "You've got Angela's sock."

"What? Oh." He peeled it off, passed it to Tim and chuckled. "Are you saying Nurse Crane needs reminding of how accomplished your mother is?"

"It couldn't hurt," Tim said, carrying his sister out to meet their guest.

* * *

The Turner dinner table was silent.

Angela looked in turn at all of the adults, her face puckered into a confused frown. She turned to Timothy.

He shrugged. I don't know Angela, he thought. I don't think we can save this.

Tim tried to think of something clever to say, but nothing came to mind. What did Nurse Crane like to talk about?

His parents were acting weird. It was almost like when the lady from the adoption society came over for tea. He'd dressed smartly and been on his best behaviour while the lady interviewed him, but he could still tell that Mum and Dad were nervous by how quiet and polite they were. Then afterward, they'd had some sort of argument and hadn't spoken for weeks. He hoped that wouldn't be the case again.

"The meal is delicious, Mrs. Turner," Nurse Crane said.

She's lying, Tim thought - even he knew that. Mum's meals were usually wonderful, but she's missed the mark on this one. He only ate it because he didn't want her to look bad in front of Nurse Crane.

"Thank you," Mum said, smiling.

Tim sighed. Why had his parents invited Nurse Crane in the first place if they weren't going to talk about anything except the food? When they went to lunch at Nonnatus, Mum and Dad talked about all sorts of things - stories from old patients, Tim's progress in school, Angela's new tooth, gossip from the nurses, what they thought of that Elvis Presley (Dad hated him, Mum insisted she agreed, though Tim caught her humming Love Me Tender to Angela once), future plans for the surgery and the latest news in the papers. Nurse Crane was at most of those lunches. Why couldn't they just talk to her like that now?

Just like during those weeks after the adoption lady came, it looked like it was up to him to keep up the conversation.

"I help Mum in the kitchen sometimes," he said. "Well, I did a lot when I still had my calipers. But I'm going for my cookery badge in scouts in the fall."

"Well, cookery is an excellent skill to have, Master Turner," Nurse Crane said, with a firm nod. "I'm sure your mother appreciates it, being busy with Baby and all. And you never know when you may have to fend for yourself."

"Oh, I had to learn loads before Mum came along," Tim said. "Cleaning and cooking - Dad's rubbish in the kitchen."

"Your father wasn't that bad, Timothy. He was just busy and got distracted sometimes," Mum smiled at Dad in a way that made Timothy want to roll his eyes. But he didn't, for the sake of being well-behaved for Nurse Crane.

Angela, tired of being ignored, babbled and reached her hands out toward her father's plate. Before his dad could stop her, Angela had taken a fistful of salad greens and dropped them on the floor at Nurse Crane's feet.

"Angela," Dad groaned.

"I'll get it, Patrick -"

"No, stay." His dad scooped the errant salad into his serviette and went to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Mum apologized, giving Angela some bread and butter to gnaw on.

"How old is she?" the nurse asked, nodding toward the child.

"Eight months," his dad said, coming out of the kitchen and sitting back down. "And getting to be quite mischievous, I'm afraid."

"Well, a firm hand is all that is needed for that. My mother worked my entire childhood. Had too - my father wasn't in the picture," Nurse Crane added in a disapproving whisper. "So she left early, got home late. I never saw her much. You learn self-discipline."

"Mum always brings Angela to clinic," Tim said, defending his mother. "And the surgery sometimes. And she's always home for dinner too and makes sure I do my homework and practice the piano. I can't get away with anything."

"Timothy –" Mum began to scold.

"See?" Tim meant it as a joke, but the stern look from his father told him his cheek was not appreciated. He tucked back into his dinner.

"You play the piano, Timothy?" Nurse Crane said. "That is a wonderful skill to have. I am not musical myself. Perhaps you can entertain us later."

"I just play for Mum and the choir," Tim muttered.

"Oh yes, I heard about the Poplar community choir. Such a fortifying endeavor for the community. It's such a shame you had to abandon it, Mrs. Turner."

Mum pursed her lips the way she always did when she was annoyed. Uh-oh. "Well, I didn't exactly –"

"She didn't abandon it. We had to go get Angela that day. And anyway, she's thinking about joining the choir again," Tim said, coming to the rescue. "Aren't you, Mum?"

Mum's eyes widened and she laughed nervously. "Well, possibly, but not until after Christmas. We're all still quite busy at the moment."

"Mum's a great singer," Tim said. "And she helps me with my music lessons all the time."

"You do have a lovely voice, Shelagh."

"Now, Timothy, Patrick, " Mum said, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. "You're making me sound quite grander than I really am. Nurse Crane won't know what to think."

"Oh, don't be so modest, Mrs. Turner," the nurse trilled. "You must learn how to take a compliment, after all." She set aside her napkin and looked around at the half-empty plates and the pan of uneaten potatoes. "Well, if no one's going to eat anything more, I think we're all ready for cake."

* * *

Nurse Crane's Spanish cake turned out to be nothing more than a version of an almond sponge, thank goodness, and Timothy ended up eating two pieces and sneaking a third to share with Angela when the adults weren't looking.

With his mouth full of cake and his attention caught by a very wriggly and playful Angela, Tim didn't notice his mother was in the line of fire again until it was too late.

"I believe you wanted to discuss the dysentery cases, Mrs. Turner?" Nurse Crane said.

"Yes," Mum said, setting aside her teacup. "Hygiene is really the problem, and I was thinking it might be a useful idea to start by offering regular classes on proper hygiene in the home. Not just hand-washing, but properly sterilising baby bottles and washing nappies and teaching mothers how to keep illness from spreading."

"Too many times I've seen families succumb to completely treatable illnesses simply because of poor living conditions," his dad said with a weary sigh. "Dysentery was just the latest."

"We were quick to spot and stop that one," the nurse said, gesturing with her teacup. "Dr. Turner tells me you were the one to find the source, Mrs. Turner."

Mum beamed. "Yes, with a little bit of detective work."

Nurse Crane nodded. "We need mothers like you with their ear to the ground.

And you're right, proper hygiene is the first step." She set her teacup down and clasped her hands together. "I shall get started on the curriculum for the classes tonight."

Mum stuttered. "Well - the truth is, I have been thinking about teaching them myself."

Nurse Crane waved her off. "Oh, you don't have to. I'm perfectly happy to do it. I know you must be busy with the surgery and with Baby and your home, and I wouldn't want to put you out. "

"You wouldn't be - "

"I shall do a fine job, I promise, Mrs. Turner. People always respond best to a figure of authority."

A figure of authority? Nurse Crane had obviously never seen Mum when she was angry (which wasn't often, but it was scary enough that Tim always ended up doing exactly what he was told).

"And others respond to gentler guidance," Mum said tersely.

Uh-oh. Tim thought. Maybe he should volunteer to play the piano, just to stop an argument.

Luckily, his dad stepped in. "But surely, Nurse Crane, there are so many other causes. Would you be able to teach and still do your nursing rounds? Look after all your patients?"

Nurse Crane frowned and tutted. "I do see you point, Dr. Turner. And as a medical secretary, your wife would have more time than one of the nurses." She sighed. "Very well. Why don't we split them, Mrs. Turner?"

Mum smiled, though Tim could see her fingers clenched tightly in a fist at her side. "That sounds agreeable," she said coolly.

"And Dr. Turner, I'm very interested in hearing about these other causes…"


	4. Chapter 4

Shelagh closed the front door and let out a long sigh of relief. It had been more than two hours of smiling politely and fighting to keep her temper, but Nurse Crane had finally left, placated and "very much looking forward to working with her."

She padded back into the living room to collect the cake plates but found Patrick had beaten her to it.

"Thank you," she said. "Where's Timothy?"

"I sent him outside to play." He set the plates on the ledge of the kitchen hatch, then lit a cigarette. "After sitting with Nurse Crane for nearly three hours, I thought he deserved a break."

"Don't we all," Shelagh muttered.

Patrick passed her the cigarette. "She's quite a general, isn't she?"

She took a long drag. "Yes. Did you really have to bring up _other_ causes, Patrick?"

"I didn't know how else to placate her. I was only trying to stop an argument."

"I wouldn't have argued with her, not in front of Timothy."

Patrick raised an eyebrow.

"Well, only a little," she conceded. She looked back at the mess in the kitchen and winced. "Oh, but the lunch was ruined. I can't believe she still ate it. I'm sorry about that."

"It wasn't that terrible and I've done worse, my love – as Timothy so helpfully pointed out," he said, with a chuckle. "I'll clean it up. You've already done battle today."

Shelagh smiled gratefully and wandered over to Angela's empty playpen to straighten up the toys inside. She'd taken her to the bedroom for her nap shortly before Nurse Crane left, and Angela went down without any fuss. Her daughter was sleeping through the night now too, and it was getting easier to keep her to a routine, so Shelagh even had some time to herself in the afternoons, just before Patrick came home. She had time to think, to plan and to want more.

She went to the kitchen and leaned in the doorway, watching Patrick finish up the dishes. "Patrick, when Nurse Crane said people respond best to an authority figure – do you think that's true?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. But no one wants to be barked at and ordered around."

"No," Shelagh said with a shake of her head. "But Nurse Crane is right. The nurses and the Sisters, they do command quite of a bit of respect in the community. Perhaps it would be better if they led the classes."

Patrick turned and frowned at her. "But it was your idea. And the community respects you just as much as Nurse Crane – some of them probably more. You've been here longer than she has."

"But I'm not technically a nurse and midwife any longer. And I still don't know if I would want to go back to nursing and midwifery full-time or if it would even be possible, with Timothy starting grammar school and Angela learning to walk soon -"

"We'll make it work." Patrick tossed aside the dishcloth and took her hands in his. "Whether you decide to lead classes for the mothers or work as my medical secretary or return to nursing, we'll figure it out."

Shelagh smiled. She and Patrick had been married more than two years now, but sometimes she still marveled at how lucky she'd gotten. Oh, it wasn't always easy, not when there were late nights, burned dinners, small arguments and children demanding their attention. Marriage was hard work, but they worked hard at it together. She stepped closer, into his embrace. "Yes. We will." She reached up to kiss him.

"I'll have to thank Timothy later," she said, after a moment. "That quite a display of loyalty at lunch."

"Well, he's right. You are wonderful at anything you set your mind to," Patrick said, leaning down to kiss her again.

Shelagh pulled back a little. "Nurse Crane doesn't seem to think so."

"The only person who meets Nurse Crane's standards is Nurse Crane. And I think even she falls short sometimes," Patrick joked.

Shelagh giggled and then sighed. "Oh, don't we all?" She looked around the kitchen, once a mess, and now nearly clean thanks to Timothy and Patrick's efforts. She might have done battle today, but she wasn't alone. "Sometimes, we just need a bit of help."

Patrick smiled, his arm wrapped around her waist, and led her out of the kitchen and down the hall. "And now, Mrs. Turner, I believe you promised me something this morning."

"Patrick, I said Sunday. That's not until tomorrow."

"Is it? Well, as you pointed out to Timothy and Nurse Crane, I can get a bit – _distracted._ "

Shelagh sighed, feigning exasperation. 'Yes, I know. Well, I suppose we could get an early start."

"You are quite brilliant, you know?"

"I know. But you can tell me again if you like."


End file.
